Divergences
by Beast of the Sea
Summary: /AU/ Three different places where the timeline could have diverged. /Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald/


Divergences

**Fandom**: Harry Potter  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Date Written**: January 31, 2010

**Summary**: /AU/ Three different places where the timeline could have diverged. /Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald/

**Author's Note**: No character-bashing intended; any flurries of insults or negative comments are solely characters' opinions.

"Potions" and "herbology" are not capitalized in this fic because I reasoned that, while they may be capitalized as _subjects_, in the real world, "biology", "mathematics", "physics", and the like aren't capitalized, so the magical fields wouldn't be capitalized by a Hogwarts graduate.

And yes, the third one is somewhat self-indulgent. Er... I swear I would have written about the other divergences in equal detail if I had more canon information regarding what would have happened had they occurred, but I'm lucky to have as much canon information as I do, really.

If it's at all unclear, the oncoming war being referred to in the last part of the third one is World War I, not World War II.

**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter series and all related characters, settings, and plots.

* * *

"_Stupefy!_"

Aberforth crumpled to the floor, shut up for once. Albus paused, cut off mid-speech, and turned to Gellert. "That was-"

"He wasn't going to listen to reason, Albus, that much was obvious from the _last_several minutes of conversation." Gellert scowled at the unconscious Aberforth, who still had his fingers curled loosely around his wand. "Besides, I spared him terrible humiliation. With his skill at wandwork, he probably would have ended up hexing his own bollocks off."

"Gellert!"

"My apologies, Albus," Gellert said, waving his hand in the air. "My temper is not the best at the moment."

For a while, they both looked down at Aberforth; in the near-silence, a door creaked open upstairs. "I - suppose - we ask Miss Bagshot to take care of him and ensure he goes off to Hogwarts, then," Albus said at last, his gaze flickering to the stairway. "We shall, ourselves, continue as planned..."

"Of course," said Gellert, walking over to pat Albus on the back. He grinned up at Albus. "There is no need to worry. Great-Aunt Bathilda can be quite persistent when she wants to be."

Albus gave him a wan smile. "I am sure she will be."

Before Gellert could respond, a voice spoke from the top of the stairs. "Abby? Abby, are you all right?"

Both of them turned to see Ariana, pale and wide-eyed. "Abby?"

"He's - sleeping," Albus said, taking a step towards the stairs. "Ariana, go back to your -"

Gellert caught his arm. "She's going with us, remember?" he whispered.

Albus blinked. "Ah - yes. Yes, that's right." He sighed and beckoned her downstairs. "Ariana, we're going -"

"Why's he sleeping?" Ariana asked, her voice growing more frightened by the moment. "You were just fighting. Then it stopped -"

Gellert shrugged and looked at Aberforth. "You can come here and see. He _is _sleeping."

Something shifted in Ariana's expression, and for a moment, Gellert had the unnerving feeling that this was the closest he had come to death in a rather reckless life. "You didn't - hurt him, did you?"

_If you hurt Abby..._ "No, he's fine," Gellert said, forcing a casual air. If he gave Ariana any reason to believe he had hurt her beloved brother (no accounting for insanity, to modify the saying), he might not be allowed even a moment to protest. He was abruptly most thankful that he had _not _used the Cruciatus, satisfying as that would have been. "He only fell asleep. I did not harm a hair on his head, I assure you," he said, spreading his hands.

Ariana's expression smoothed out, and Gellert resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief. With a mumble of "What's so important about his hair?", Ariana descended the stairs; she paused for a moment at the bottom, then rushed to Aberforth's side and dropped to her knees on the floor beside him. Her hands shaking, she rolled him onto his back and watched him; after a few seconds, she sat back and looked up at Albus and Gellert with a shaky smile. "He's breathing!"

"Yes, we told you he's only sleeping," Albus said, his tone a bit exasperated. Ariana turned back to Aberforth and gave him a crushing hug; Aberforth grunted and began to stir when she let go of him.

_Damnit_. "Ariana, we should go now," Gellert said, touching her on the shoulder. Somehow, he didn't think Aberforth would take too well from waking up from a Stunner and finding that he was about to be left behind. More importantly, somehow, he didn't think _he_would take too well to having to deal with Aberforth again.

She nodded, expression uncertain, and let herself be guided up by the arm. "We're... we're not leaving for good, are we?" she asked, looking down at Aberforth. "We'll come back someday?"

Gellert felt briefly guilty, but shoved it down. "Yes, of course," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "We might even visit."

Relief spread across her face, and Gellert silenced his niggling feelings of guilt again. She would benefit from this as well, in the end. "That's good."

"Shall we go, then?"

Her face faltered, and she looked down at Aberforth again, mumbling something that sounded like, "I wanted to say g-"

"Eh?"

Ariana clamped her mouth shut and shook her head; Gellert raised an eyerbrow, but guided her towards the door.

And so it was that (after some reassuring Ariana that no, they definitely wouldn't let anyone hurt her, and yes, Aberforth would be all right) the three of them left to meet their destinities.

How could it have been otherwise?

* * *

Sharp knocks sounded against the door. Gellert Grindelwald, twenty years old, looked up and scowled, one hand reflexively grabbing the Elder Wand. None of his followers, few as they were, would be visiting him at one in the morning; no acquaintances of his would be insane enough to make a social call at this hour, either. He had no friends. His family had all but disowned him as an embarrassment, which left... enemies, possibly?

He got to his feet, casting a nonverbal Shield Charm, and walked over to the door. "Yes?" he asked, standing to the side a bit. While Shield Charms could withstand the majority of magical assaults, their protection against purely _physical_ flying objects was variable. He was not keen on being the first one to test if a Shield Charm from the Elder Wand would hold up against certain projectiles - like, for instance, Muggle bullets.

The knocking stopped. "I hate you," said a muffled voice from the other side of the door in English. Well, it _was_ an enemy, then, if an unusually frank one. Gellert waited for elaboration, and was not disappointed. "I _hate_ you, you sadistic, reckless -" Common insults; Gellert, rolling his eyes, began reciting _arrogant, grandiose, know-it-all child with no respect for tradition - _"short-sighted, irrational, immature -" _What_? _Those_ were new ones - "excuse for a wizard whose response to every problem is attacking it, since _every_ problem can be solved by force, like a demented _child_-"

"Surely you must have better things to do at this time of night?"

"I want to make certain that you _understand_ me, rather than dismissing these as unimportant concerns, as you dismiss _everything _inconvenient to your fantasies as unimportant concerns," the voice snarled.

Disgruntled follower, perhaps? One emboldened by late-night drinking to speak his mind? No, the voice didn't sound slurred enough... "Yes, O wise and knowledgeable wizard," he said, feeling petty. "I am _sure_ you have never been frustrated, or done _anything_ rash, or engaged in wistful thinking. No, I am _certain_ you have always been the very model of sobriety and rationality - well, that is, up until you stumbled up to my door at one in the morning to harangue me for my sins. _Very _rational, that. But, of course, it is undoubtedly all my fault for being a bad influence, and within the day, you will resume -"

"I am afraid, Herr Grindelwald, that you are doing an excellent job of proving my point," the voice said, with a somewhat sneering air. Gellert, absurdly, felt affronted; how dare someone _else_ be petty as well? part of him whined. He'd reserved that role! He stuffed it down before he began to seriously consider the stranger's accusation of immaturity. "Furthermore, I am not here just to express my grievances with you. If that were my only intention, I would quite happily send you a particularly explosive Howler and hope you were burned. It would be nice if _you _were burned by your stupidity, for once, rather than someone else," the voice added bitterly.

And the more the stranger complained, the more he was proving Gellert's point. "Then what _are _you here for, then?"

A deep exhalation sounded from behind the door. "Because I still agree with you," the voice said, its bitterness deepening. "Because I have tried, and tried, and tried to persuade myself that you were wrong, and every time, I have failed, or known that to succeed would only be to delude myself. Because even despite your numerous flaws, you, amongst all those who would be Dark Lords or bring down the Statute of Secrecy, are the one who has the best chance of succeeding. Please do not block out everything I said previously in favor of admiring yourself." Really, now. How short-sighted _did_ the stranger think he was? Gellert conveniently forgot that he _had_, in fact, begun to wallow in the compliment before being told off. "Because if I tried to do it on my own, I know that I would find a reason why I could not be bothered, or why it was impossible, or even finally delude myself into thinking it was pointless in the first place. Because you cannot succeed, or succeed for long, without my help, for all the reasons I listed previously." Gellert stared at the door, his mouth falling open. Oh, _he_ was one to lecture _him_ about... well... this one _hadn't _lectured him about arrogance, had he? "Not because of any remaining fondness for you. Do you understand me?"

"Of course," Gellert said, walking in front of the door. Did... whoever this was... think he was a complete idiot? "Now, since you think you're such an asset," he said, turning the doorknob and swinging open the door, "let's see who you - _Albus?_"

The man's bright blue eyes widened, but he forced a cold expression after a moment. "I will thank you, Gel- Grindelwald," he said, "not to forget everything I -"

"_Albus!_" Gellert rushed forward, but was immediately shoved away. "What was that for?" he asked, wounded and becoming angry. The first time they saw each other in years, and -

"Did you listen to a _single _word I said?" Albus asked, sounding irate. "I am not here for a fond reunion. I am here for the greater good."

"Yes, but _Albus_-" said Gellert, dropping his voice into a coaxing tone. "Surely -"

"Do you really think our relationship would be the same after you tortured my brother, forced us into a duel that led to Ariana's death, and ran back home the second you realized the seriousness of the situation?" Albus snapped, leaning into Gellert's face. He really had to ask how he'd acquired that broken nose. "Are you _truly_-"

"I was expecting you to follow me!" Gellert protested. "How was I to know you wouldn't?"

Albus looked as if he had been struck - or, to be more precise, as if Gellert had said something so unbelievably, unfathomably stupid that it was painful merely to imagine a mind capable of uttering such inane things existed. "Regardless, Ge- Grindelwald," he said as he recovered, "how can you _possibly_ believe that - never mind. The important thing you need to remember is what I said to you _only a few minutes ago_. _Surely_ you, with your _excellent _memory, can manage that?"

Er... Albus agreed with him... Albus still thought he was the best candidate to do what must be done... Albus couldn't do it without him... Albus looked like he'd like to do nothing so much as repeatedly bang his head against a wall... no, that was what he looked like right now... Albus was irrational from anger over what had happened four years ago... Albus looked like he'd like to do nothing so much as repeatedly bang _his _head against a wall... any wall... possibly the doorframe... "Of course!" Gellert said in his most cheerful voice, attempting to pacify Albus. "How could you ever doubt it?"

"Never mind," Albus said. "Will you accept my offer of help, Grindelwald?" He was getting better at it. The stutter on the G was barely noticeable.

Gellert moved to the side and swept a bow with mock politeness. "Naturally, _Dumbledore_. Do come in."

Albus flinched, but his shoulders sagged in relief. "I am glad to hear we understand each other," he said, entering. "Your notes?" he asked, gesturing to the stacks of papers that were, indeed, Gellert's notes.

"Yes."

"We should discuss them, then."

"Of course." Gellert concealed his grin. So what if Albus thought the damage was irreparable? He knew better. And, yes, the insults did sting, but Albus had obviously been venting frustration, and he would be nowhere near so vehement later. It would just be a matter of playing Albus's game until he softened, and he would. The factors that drew them together in the first place had not changed: all of the Wizarding world was still forced to hide in deference to their lessers, equals were still nowhere to be seen (if England was anything like Germany), and the world still needed _someone _to lead it. Albus himself had said that he could not persuade himself to close his eyes to the truth; he would come around. Reluctant partners or not, after all, they were together again, and, if he had anything to say about it, they would stay that way for good.

How could it have been otherwise?

* * *

Kendra squeezed her eyes shut. Dear God, it _hurt_, it _hurt..._ Broken ribs? She cracked one eye open, and wished she hadn't. It was one thing to suspect your ribs were broken, but to _see_ them protruding from the smoking flesh - she shut her eyes again, forcing down her urge to vomit. Movement would make it worse. _Could have been worse_, she thought, trying to pacify herself, _if it had been a few inches to the left_ - No, that didn't help at _all_. Her next thought was _She can break Shield Charms_- and she decided that maybe, when it came to suppressing nausea, it was best to just focus on the pain. Nothing going through her head right now was good.

She knew she had to move, but she couldn't stand the thought; she just wanted to curl up in a ball - if that wouldn't make it hurt worse, that was - and... no, not die, she had to live, but maybe just... pass out for a while, that was it... Was she going into shock? Probably. She tried to stretch her arm to reach where her wand had fallen - mistake - and a high-pitched, whining noise forced itself out of her throat. She knew pain-suppressing charms, had used them on Ariana... Did they work on the caster? Some of them did, she thought... the haze of pain rather fogged her memory...

"_Well?_" a sharp voice demanded, cutting through the agony and her own pained breathing for a moment. "What's taking you so long? I didn't hit you _that _hard, you old biddy."

Kendra raised her head and looked at Ariana, careful not to meet her eyes; for a second, she could not recall why, then remembered Ariana, in a friendlier mood, eagerly reading to Aberforth a passage out of one of Albus's books on magical creatures, one including something about not making eye contact with certain animals, because they took it as a challenge... No, she didn't think that about her own daughter, she _didn't_. At any rate, she shoved that thought into a corner of her mind for later consideration. "You did, actually."

"What?" Ariana's eyes narrowed. "No, I didn't. Don't try to fool me. I don't like being tricked. Do you think I'm an idiot? _Do _you?" Her left arm began to twitch again.

Kendra kept her voice and expression as even as she could; in the mood Ariana was in, she'd take any sign of fear as an affirmative answer and move in for the kill. She wouldn't even realize it was the kill, probably. "No, I don't. You know that, Ariana; I love you dearly -"

"So?"

Any frustration would be used as an excuse to attack, anything that annoyed Ariana would provoke an instant strike... Kendra decided that some additional pain was a small cost for survival. At the same time that she reached for her wand again, she threw her weight into rolling onto her front, coming down hard.

When she could think coherently again, Ariana was kneeling next to her, expression detached but concerned. "You _are _hurt."

A snarled "_Yes_" might make Ariana feel petty and, from there, sadistic for a second, so Kendra only raised her head and nodded. Ariana cocked her head, curiosity flitting across her face, and prodded the wound.

One strangled stream of obscenities later, Ariana burst out, "I'm sorry! I'm _sorry!_" Kendra could really not think of anything halfway polite to say at the moment, and so kept her mouth shut. The fear had passed, and she was feeling most irritable. For obvious reasons. "I didn't mean to hurt you like that! I'm sorry, Mum, I'm _sorry!_"

When Kendra managed to raise her gaze to Ariana's face again, she saw, after blinking away tears of pain, that it had drained of all color, and Ariana's expression was wide-eyed and horrified - and most importantly, innocently so. Her daughter proper, sweet girl that she was, had returned. _A bit late_, part of her grumbled, prompted by a fresh throb of pain. She shoved it aside. Now was not the time. She sighed - or at least attempted to, and was reminded that it was a very, very bad idea. "_Mum?_"

"Will you just - would you please hand me my wand?" Kendra croaked. It was just out of reach, now, but she didn't have it in her to try stretching that extra distance. Theoretically and rationally, of course, she preferred this to the Cruciatus, since that would be infinitely worse by definition, but if someone walked in and asked her, well, she wasn't thinking straight... Ariana handed it to her, and she barely resisted the urge to sigh in relief. "Thank you. Now, in the kitchen cabinet, there are several potions. Please get a light green one and a purple one and bring them to me." A pain-killer and a burn-soother, respectively. More detailed care could wait until Aberforth arrived home. _Oh, G- Merlin, let this not be one of the days Aberforth is late arriving home..._

* * *

Albus wrote enthusiastic letters home about the countries he was visiting with Elphias (and the fascinating foreign magic he was studying on the side), and asked about the state of affairs at home; Kendra replied with assurances that all was well. It was, compared to what might have been.

Aberforth took over family duties while she was recuperating. She had to admit, to her shame, that he did much better than she thought he would; he showed remarkable devotion, responsibility, and dedication to hard work when the occasion called for it. (Now she just had to figure out where that young man went whenever the topic of schoolwork came up in any shape or form.)

Ariana, when lucid and not distracted by goats, alternated between doing her best to stay by Kendra's side at all times and locking herself in her room, sobbing with self-hatred. An incident occurred a few days after the nearly fatal attack that left Aberforth white-faced and refusing to talk about it, though he insisted over and over again and in a louder and louder voice that everything was fine when Kendra asked what had happened; she never asked after that, but had a bleak suspicion that it was an attempt at suicide. Ariana's physical condition did improve with Aberforth taking care of her, though that wasn't due to difference in the quality of care so much as... suffice to say, the glass Kendra was holding didn't spontaneously _shatter _when Aberforth asked why she said Ariana was amazingly stubborn about the simplest things, but it acquired several hairline fractures.

And herself? ...She made the best she could of the situation. She asked Albus to send back books on defensive magic, and studied them the second they arrived, she produced potions when she could, and she cared for her daugher and son as best she was able. She couldn't go into Saint Mungo's for treatment, since everything would go the blazes the moment some Mediwitch noticed that her magical signature didn't match up with that of the residual magic in the injury, but she was fairly good at potions, herbology, and general at-home medical help, if she did say so herself. (Not that the last eight years had given her much of a choice.) No matter what happened, she would manage. She would.

* * *

"Coming to bed?"

Albus yawned and gave Elphias a wan smile. "As soon as I can. I have to write another letter."

Elphias raised an eyebrow as he looked at the pile of already-written letters. "Another?"

"My apologies. I had to give some thought to the letter to Henry Umbridge." The old rumor went that, over a century ago, Mary Umbridge had made a deal with a demon to ensure her descendants' perpetual high placement in the Ministry in exchange for their using said high placement to make as many people's lives as unpleasant as possible. The Umbridges certainly behaved as if they believed it.

"Oh, dear."

"Yes." Albus sighed. "Fortunately, that is now finished, and this one shall not be terribly time-consuming." That was technically not a lie. _This _one, being the first in a series if all went well, would not take very long.

Elphias kissed him on the cheek. "I'll wait for you."

"No need," Albus murmured, but Elphias was already leaving the room. He pushed his half-moon spectacles a bit up his nose, renewed the Lumos spell (which had dimmed after a few hours), and let out a deep sigh as he fell into thought.

The Wizarding World historically coordinated its true wars with Muggle wars, so as to provide cover: sightings of magic were passed off as shock-induced hallucination or a new trick of the enemy's, missing people were attributed to assassinations or slaughters (depending on the circumstances), and a massive shift of political power stemming from one country's Wizarding world conquering another could be recreated in the Muggle world through use of the Confundus, Imperius, and similar spells on generals and politicians. While Wizarding "wars" occurred even when Muggles were at peace, the tactics used during said "wars" consisted of causing as much pain and fear in the enemy as possible through short, brutal attacks, rather than engaging in sustained combat - more a matter of emotionally breaking the opponent than defeating it. Despite the rhetoric used by those rallying their forces for the assaults, due to the necessity of limiting the scale of the attacks in order to avoid breaking the Statute, those who fought in those wars bore rather less resemblance to noble warriors than they did to sadistic thugs.  
_  
Or Muggle boys._

Unfortunately, international tensions between Muggles were growing, and so _true _wars would be fought, about which ballads were written, where survivors recorded tales of battlefields where no living beings survived, but the corpses tore each other to pieces and rose again in horrific jumbles of mangled flesh until someone reduced them to ashes...

The more allies he could recruit for England, the less English blood would be shed. Yes, it would be _preferable _for less blood to be shed in the first place, but an ideal world would have no wars in the first place. As it was, he had to make do with what he had.

In particular, the more allies he could recruit for England who would _otherwise _be doing as much damage in the service of their own goals as possible, the better. The wizard to whom he now wrote a letter was one such, being, depending on who he asked, a charismatic, brilliant idealist who had gone wrong out of loneliness and lack of guidance, or an unbalanced, reckless sadist who failed to comprehend why anyone in their right mind wouldn't rush to join him in whatever mad scheme he had created now. He was uncertain as to which would be the more dangerous scenario; while a short-sighted madman could cause a great deal of damage under the right circumstances, a misguided idealist, particularly one with a good deal of ability, might seize the opportunity of wartime to rise to power and steer his followers in whatever direction he thought best, despite the consequences. Merlin knew he himself had begun considering ways to push through repeals of certain anti-Muggleborn laws and of regulations of experimental magic, amongst other things, as 'wartime measures' that no one would ever quite get around to eliminating. At any rate, whichever the wizard was, it would be better to have him for England than against it.

Albus put pen to paper and began to write:

_Dear Gellert Grindelwald,_

_I would like to make an offer of alliance..._

* * *

And how could it have been otherwise?


End file.
